


The Consciousness

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detectives, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Murder Mystery, Podfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-06 14:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: Phil Coulson and Melinda May are shields, law enforcement officers, investigating the death of a Jane Doe. Bobbi and Hunter are corporate spies seeking out the secrets to The Consciousness, a process created (and held closely secret) by Dr. Jemma Simmons that can download a human brain and transfer it into an android body. Mack is a hired gun whose partner is his dead wife, in robot form. All of these people are leading separate lives - until they intersect in unexpected ways.Updating infrequently.





	1. Jane Doe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunalso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/gifts).



> This is a non-canon Cyberpunk AU with a noir twist. Shipping will be secondary to plot if not tertiary. Please note the MCD warning. It's all very different from what I usually write, but I was making a bunch of photo manipulations of the characters in a cyberpunk setting, and then this happened. I hope you like it!
> 
> I'll post a different character image at the end of each chapter, in case you didn't see them on tumblr :)
> 
> I'll be adding an audio version of each chapter at some point after posting it. Hopefully the timing will be relatively close, but it might take a day or two for me to record.

Jemma looked out the splattered window through her reflection and down to the city below. The neon signs glowed in the dusk lighting, seeming both brighter and more muted in the rain. She couldn't hear the noise of people and traffic from this high up, but she could still see the lights. As she took a sip of tea her eyes unfocused, turning the view into a splash of vivid colours on a dark canvas. She sighed. It had really been too long since she'd been to the Metropolitan Gallery.

"Dr. Simmons?"

A lab-coated intern with a right-hand replacement and an implant in her temple knocked on the office door. She had the violet-coloured hair that was in vogue this week and the left side of her head was shaved into an intricate pattern that drew the eye to the shining blue light at her temple. As if the eye weren't already drawn there. At least this one put safety ahead of fashion enough to wear a shirt. Half of them didn't. You couldn't see half of their mods that way. 

"Yes?"

"Another set of applications for The Consciousness."

"Put them on the desk with the others."

"Yes, Doctor." 

The pile was large and constantly growing. So large in fact that the iridescent pages could almost replace her task lamp, except she preferred the warmer glow of a pink bulb to the shiny green of glowing text. 

The intern - what was her name? Ajax? Something like that - didn't leave immediately. It didn't take a genius to know she had something more she wanted to say. 

"Was there something else?"

"It's just- I was wondering if you'd made your decision yet. About your new assistant. Who it's going to be?"

Her  _old_ assistant had only quit three hours ago - via Message. That hurt. They'd been close, or so Jemma had thought, but apparently not close enough for her to quit in person. Jemma had a reputation for being demanding of the people that she worked with, but she liked to think she was also fair. Yes, she drove people to work hard, but she also drove them to work  _better_. A year of working with Dr. Jemma Simmons opened doors all over the world. 

Of course, so did a lot of other jobs at Stark Industries, but Jemma liked to think hers had a certain  _extra_ cachet.

"Not yet. I'm still in the review process."

"Alright, well, I'm Allison Jax. I mean, I know you know that already but I just wanted to confirm. You know, in case you didn't realize my first name. Not everyone does. It's-"

"Thank you, Dr. Jax." 

A. Jax. Of course. How silly of her. 

"Thank you, Dr. Simmons."

The door wooshed closed behind her and Jemma was left in silence as she contemplated the city outside of her window. She wondered what might be happening on the streets below.

* * *

 

"Phil! Pay attention!"

Phil Coulson snapped out of his reverie, dragging his eyes away from the premium seater that was parked across the street. It looked like it had the new hoverdrive from Stark. He'd been reading about it. Too bad he only made a shield salary. He'd love to get one of those for Lola.

"I was just gathering my thoughts."

His partner, May, raised an eyebrow at him but didn't say anything else. She rarely had to. 

"I think it's the red hair. I'm not used to it. It's distracting me." 

She'd dyed it on an undercover op and hadn't bothered dyeing it back again. He was starting to wonder if she might actually  _like_ it. 

May rolled her eyes eloquently and turned back to the body. This was their fifth Jane Doe this month. Whoever was doing this was speeding up, and they still didn't have any leads worth chasing down. She was getting tired of chasing down all the leads that weren't worth it. 

"Anything to go on?" Phil crouched down on the other side of the body and brushed the hair back from its face. She'd been pretty, whoever she was, but these days that wasn't hard. If you had the money, you could look however you wanted. If you didn't have the money... Well, the barter system was still alive and well and if you were willing, you get it that way too. 

"Some tattoos. That's about it."

May set up the auto-scanner and they stepped back to the edges of the small force field they'd thrown up over the crime scene.

Even if they hadn't found the body, on a night like this they'd probably be under it. The rain was coming down strong and steady, its rhythmic drumming on the streets only slightly muffled by the field. They'd both been soaked through more times than they could count, and when you'd been in the force as long as they had no one spoke up too loudly about misuse of police equipment if all you were doing was getting out of the weather.

"No implants? Mods? Replacements?"

May pointed to the left wrist and the right temple. There  _had_ been implants, but they'd been removed. Just like with the others. They'd probably changed hands half a dozen times already on the black market. Implants brought in the bank. So much so that people were starting to hide them, just in case. There'd been enough cases in the news lately to make even the proudest Modder lay low when they were on their own. 

"Damn." Phil blew out a breath and scratched his nose with his real hand. "Who  _is_ this sonofabitch? And why haven't we caught him?"

May pressed her lips together and met his eyes. She was in complete agreement. 

* * *

 

It wasn't the implants that people were after so much as what the implants could  _do_. They whirred away, 24/7, recording every firing neuron your brain had. The longer you had an implant, the better your mirror was. If you had a good mirror when you died then your Consciousness could be saved. Stored. Copied over and uploaded. You could live forever, if you had a good mirror. Your Consciousness could move from body to body but you would still be  _you_. Living. Loving. Never growing old. Humanity had found the Fountain of Youth, and it was in an implant. 

Not all implants were created equal, though. 

Stark had the best ones, the Simmons TFDs. They only produced a handful at a time because they were so complex but they were also the best guarantee of a successful transition. The Pym ones weren't bad. Smaller of course, like everything else they made, but they had a tendency to glitch sometimes and more than one person had had to get theirs removed. Most people had Hammer ones, though. They were the cheapest, mass-produced version. Some people said they didn't  _actually_ work, but Hammer had published their own internal data to prove the rumours false. While it was true that they required a larger data set than either the Pym or the Stark models, they were still able to create an accurate mirror and upload a Consciousness just like the rest. 

Even a Hammer implant could net you a ridiculous price on the black market, especially if the Modder had been wearing it for a while. There was a market out there for Conscious robots. It was a pretty distasteful market, but that was humans for you. Create the most remarkable technology in history, and people would still find a way to have sex with it. That was true of everything going all the way back to the Internet. Maybe even before. 

But once you got your hands on an implant, you couldn't just use it. You needed a mechanic. Someone to either wipe it clean and reset it for you or to boot it up in a bot body and see if it worked at all. But just like implants, not all mechanics were created equal.

 

* * *

 

  


	2. Mechanics

 

Elena looked around the small apartment she shared with her husband. It was drab and utilitarian. Olive green walls and brown lacquer floors. There was only one picture in the space, a wedding photo from a previous life. Mack looked so happy, and a woman that she recognized as herself - but also not - was glowing in his embrace. 

The photo sat on a shelf that had been rickety when they'd moved in but that Mack had fixed. It was sturdy now, no danger of that photo falling off. They'd lived in a half dozen apartments in the last year or so, and that photo was the only consistent thing about them. That and the lack of windows. Windows cost more. They couldn't afford windows, not with her upkeep. 

Being granted The Consciousness had been like winning the lottery. She'd been dying of cancer after having already lost her daughter, and she'd written her appeal as a wife not wanting to leave her husband completely alone. Whoever it was who read the applications had apparently been touched. Enough to give her one of the precious few implants they'd made that year. 

She wondered sometimes if it was Dr. Simmons herself who made the call, but more likely it was some Board of Directors or the Marketing department or something. They'd read her story and checked to make sure it was legit and decided she was the right feel-good cause to support. 

Whatever. It didn't matter. What mattered was that she was still here and Mack wasn't alone. 

She could remember what it was like to have a home with windows. She remembered keeping plants. An herb garden in the kitchen for fresh cilantro and mint. Roses on the table. A philodendron in the corner. Once upon a time, her life had been full of...  _life_. 

Looking around now, she couldn't even sigh. She didn't have lungs anymore. She didn't breathe. She wasn't  _human_ , she just  _thought_ she was. 

She'd give anything for Mack to agree with her. 

"All done."

Elena blinked her way out of her thoughts and focused on Mack's face. He was kneeling beside her chair with a screwdriver in one hand and his lenses still turned on. She could see her reflection in them as they hid his eyes. 

"Try it out."

She looked down at her arm. It looked almost normal. The skintone wasn't the one she'd had when she was alive, but they could paint it. She was shade C19574. Easy enough to mix some up.

She wiggled her fingers and smiled when she couldn't hear the servos moving. This was some first class kit. 

"Feels great."

Her smile broadened and she looked back at Mack. He'd taken off his lenses and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Once upon a time, he'd planned on getting the eye mod but that had been put on hold while they rebuilt her body. Quality android parts were expensive, and when you didn't have the cash they tended to be hard to find. Now that she had a right arm, she was just about complete from the waist up. From the waist down, though, she was still generic task bot. It was still a bit of a shock when she looked down and saw cold metal and exposed wiring. Even after all this time, she thought of herself as flesh and blood. 

Mack's face softened for a moment before he cleared his throat and looked away like he always did now.

"Great. Great. I'll just-" He stood up and set about packing up his tools. It was always hard on him when he had to work on her like this. He'd need some time alone. 

Elena nodded. She wondered idly if she could import a sigh audio file. It might make her feel better in moments like this. 

* * *

 

Robbie poked his head out from behind the dumpster where he was hiding and checked to make sure the alley was clear. He slapped a flaming skull on it out of habit. His brand. It was how people knew he was back in town. If you were in the know, you could find the data string hidden between the teeth and get his number. 

Only  _certain_ people were in the know. 

He shook his head as he watched a couple of norms climb up the stairs to a Meeting. Why people went, he didn't have a clue. Robots had been around for - _fuck_ if he knew-  _generations_. They'd probably had robots on the boats when Columbus invaded Turtle Island. He probably needed the help. Genocide ain't easy after all. But the norms  _hated_ robots. They had signs and pamphlets and all kinds of shinies they'd hand out trying to get everyone to stop trusting robots. As if robots were somehow more dishonest than people. As if!

Rolling his eyes one more time at the huge neon DO NOT TRUST ROBOTS sign one storey above a parts shop, he checked one more time for witnesses and then snuck into the Underground. 

It was filled with liars and thieves, the dregs of society, and he felt right at home. 

* * *

"Bloody hell!"

"What?"

"Don't  _what_ me. You  _know_ what."

Hunter kept his face impassive, a sure tell that he was hiding something. Even when he had his lenses on hiding half of his face, there was just something about him that radiated smirk. It was a curse he'd been living with since childhood and was probably the number one reason why he was in the business he was in. Instead of saying anything, he just lounged on the seat across from the mechanic and waited. Give him a minute to soak in what was on offer, and he'd have him.

Fitz stared at the parts strewn across his worktop and sucked on his cheek. They were perfect.  _Pristine_. He could practically  _smell_ the factory, they were that new. There was no way these were legit salvage. 

"I gave you the receipt."

He stared down at the page in his hand. The green glow of it washed over his hand and he tried his best to keep it still. If the merc saw him shaking, he'd think he was an ant. He wouldn't have time to explain the illness before he was dead. Or wishing he was.

As an itemized list, the receipt matched up to the parts alright, but there was no way those were the right prices. Not for parts like these. He shuffled through them again, looking longingly at the completely in tact pelvis with skin as soft and unsullied as a proverbial baby's buttocks and  _both_ sets of standard genitalia available for installation. You  _never_ got the full set.  _Ever_. 

"There's no store name," Fitz pointed out. He was still staring at the  _pairs_ of legs - three of them! - and two heads  _with molding trays for features_. There weren't any arms or torsos, but if this was Hunter's initial offering, he could only imagine what would come through next. 

"Isn't there?" Hunter asked mildly. He was watching the expressions cross the mechanic's face. Any child could tell that he  _wanted_ to believe that the receipt was real. Hunter just had to give him a fig leaf, as it were. "Well, it's quite a new start up. Might be missing a detail here or there. It's all taxed up, though. Good and proper."

That was the key to things like this. Have something blatantly legal that the man could point to if the shields came knocking and they couldn't fault him for being fooled. Even if he'd have to be a bloody idiot to think that a deal like this was on the up and up. 

He watched as Fitz's shoulders visibly relaxed. Got him. 

"So, have we got a deal?"

Fitz swallowed nervously before finally, hesitantly nodding his head. Reaching his gloved hand across the table, he grabbed Hunter's and shook it. 

"Deal."

He was going to live to regret this, wasn't he?

 

* * *

 


	3. Before

Daisy groaned as she rolled over and smacked her alarm cube. She hit it at the wrong angle and sent it flying off her nightstand to crash into the wall. A slight tinkling noise accompanied a louder crunch and she realized she'd probably broken the damn thing. 

She really needed to stop doing that. 

Yawning, she sat up and stretched and tried to remember the night before. There'd been a party and a hot guy and a lot of dancing (with an equal amount of alcohol), and then... 

She quickly looked over to the other side of her mattress, but it was empty. Either she'd taken care of her drunk self or the guy in question had decided to be mensch. Whichever way it had gone, she hadn't drunkenly hooked up with some random dude and that was a win in her book. She'd been working her way out of some pretty self-destructive behaviours and she was glad to see that she hadn't been backsliding. 

Now if only she could remember the rest of the night.  Apparently alcohol was next on her list of things to get in check. At least she had the guy part figured out? Somewhat?

She saw the light blinking on her monitor and groaned again. How did she have work messages already? It wasn't even - she squinted to read the tiny timestamp in the bottom corner - shit. It was almost 8. She was supposed to be at work in half an hour. Today was going to be one of those days, wasn't it?

With a feeling of resignation, she pulled out her deskchair and sat down. Might as well see what the emergency was so that she knew whether she'd have to rush off to work or whether she could risk being 10 minutes late and have an actual shower.

 

> _Ms. Johnson,_
> 
> _We regret to inform you that your employment with Hammer Industries has been terminated, effective immediately. While we appreciate your efforts in supporting our company, we are no longer in need of your services._
> 
> _Your ID has been purged from our security systems. If you attempt to enter the building, you will be escorted out by security. If you resist, you will be remanded to the police._
> 
> _Your belongings will be shipped to you at the address we have on file._
> 
> _Best Wishes,_
> 
> _Justin Hammer, BSc. MSc. PhD Esq._

So. No rush then. 

Daisy looked over at her alarm and thought about throwing it at the wall for real this time but decided against it. It might still be salvageable and it looked like she might just need to start saving money.

"Best wishes," she mumbled to herself as she hit delete on the message with more force than was actually required. "Who the hell  _fires_ you and signs off with  _Best wishes_? Best wishes." She snorted and shook her head. She'd always known Hammer was an asshole, but as long as she was getting paid she hadn't really cared that much. It wasn't like she had to hang out with the guy socially. 

What she  _did_ have to do was figure out a new job and fast. She had rent to pay and bills and pesky little things like eating to worry about. All of that added up pretty quick in a city like this one. And if you couldn't pay? You were replaced as easily as you could be fired from a job you'd had for three years. 

"Sonofa _bitch_ ," she cursed. 

Then she went to the bathroom to grab a shower. If she was going to be looking for a job, she should probably try to look like a contributing member of society. 

* * *

"He went for it."

"Good." Bobbi held out a hand for the money. She never let Hunter keep it on him. He'd proved one too many times that he couldn't handle the responsibility of that much cash. "And you told him we had more coming?"

"Of course, babe," Hunter scoffed. "What do you think I am? An  _amateur_?"

Bobbi smirked and shook her head. As she pocketed the money with one hand, she pulled Hunter in for a kiss with the other. "C'mon. I don't want to be late for the next drop."

This new job they'd taken on had given them the inside scoop on the best parts money could buy. They were straight from the Pym factory with the serial numbers 100% legit and 100% not assigned to a buyer yet. They were better than anything anyone else on the black market was offering, and it was tempting to forget the corporate espionage of the whole thing and just set up shop as parts traffickers. 

They'd be rich beyond their wildest imaginings inside of a month. 

The problem was, of course, they'd also be dead. The people they were working with were  _not_ the kind of people to take it lightly when you did something they didn't like. 

Even the current plan had taken a lot of doing to talk them into. They didn't like the complexities. They wanted the equivalent of a smash and grab.  _They_   were amateurs. If you knew what you were doing in this game, you could get in, get the info, and get out without raising a single red flag with anyone anywhere. 

Bobbi and Hunter were the best at what they did. They'd still end up rich at the end of this one, even without the black market hook ups. They'd gotten a hefty amount of cash upfront and they were getting even more at the end. Maybe they'd go back to Bora Bora. That had been a nice little vacation a few years ago after the job at the bank. 

Hunter pulled up outside of a diner whose neon lights were partially burnt out. Bobbi gave him another kiss before opening her door. 

"Ready on the gas?" she confirmed before getting out. 

"Always."

That whole 'honour among thieves' thing might be true in the history books, but it sure as hell wasn't true now. You were safe or you were sorry. And if you were sorry, you were dead. 

Weapons ready and face impassive, she pulled the empty crate out of the back of their seater and into the alleyway next to the diner. Making sure that she was in full view of Hunter, she sat down to wait for their next shipment. They had buyers waiting for them. 

And they had a mechanic they needed to pull in a little deeper. 

* * *

Jemma pulled up the collar of her coat as she stepped outside into the rain. Her boots splashed through a puddle as she hurried across the street. 

Looking back over her shoulder guiltily, she told herself firmly not to worry. Her Replacement was in her office and more than capable of handling anything that might come up in the hour or two that she was gone. She just needed a bit of fresh air. 

Her smile was ironic as she pulled her hat lower down over her forehead. Perhaps 'fresh' wasn't quite the right adjective. Still. She hadn't left Stark Tower in nearly two weeks. That was the danger in having an apartment in the same building where she worked. She rarely left because there wasn't any need to. 

She wouldn't have left tonight except that the rain had reminded her of her favourite painting. 

The Metropolitan Gallery would be closing soon, but she knew the curator. She could get ten minutes in the Impressionist wing in exchange for a cup of coffee and a chat. 

She had to admit, could probably use the chat just as much as anything else. These days, she was focusing too much on work. She had her blinders on, and that was never good for her. Not long term. She needed a distraction, but she also didn't want to search for one. Why couldn't they just show up at your door when you needed them and introduce themselves or something. 

Laughing at her own silliness, she hurried up the Gallery steps. She was in luck. They weren't closed yet. Perfect.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not writing this one very fast at all, and I don't want to leave you hanging if you run across this fic and decide you like the premise. As a result, [here's a tumblr post](http://memorizingthedigitsofpi.tumblr.com/post/182751005632/cyberpunk-au-summary) where I summarize the 6 plotlines I had in mind for this fic. All of the spoilers. Also, things might change from this outline as I keep going.


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